Alexander I
by Dawn1000
Summary: How would England's fate be changed if there was a different second Tudor son? In a world where Arthur Tudor dies in his early years, and it's his younger twin brother who winds up as Prince of Wales and then King of England, the course of medieval Europe is altered forever. Wars are waged, blood is spilled, and tears are shed, but in the end, the reign of Alexander I is legendary.
1. Chapter 1

_**SEPTEMBER 20, 1486**_

In the darkness of Elizabeth of York's chambers, several midwives crowded around her. The Queen's mother stood by her side, stroking her hair and whispering words of comfort into her ear.

"It's almost done dear," she said. "You're almost there."

Elizabeth Woodville was no stranger to childbirth and the struggles which came with it. Still, she worried her lip. The birthing was taking too long; her daughter had been in labor for three days and two nights. She prayed for a moment, for the lives of her daughter and grandson. Everything was resting on the birth and survival of this child, and his mother.

_"I CAN'T DO THIS!" _the Queen shrieked. Her face, slick with sweat, was paling quickly. She sobbed, screamed some more, and then begged for the pain to stop.

Elizabeth Woodville took her daughter's head in her hands.

"You _can _do this and you _will,_" she hissed.

For hours things continued like this- the Queen thrashing and on the verge of giving up with her mother as her last base of support until finally, _finally, _the babe emerged.

"I can see its head, Lizzie!" Elizabeth Woodville said. "Don't give up now!"

With a finally scream, the child was pushed out of its mother. Midwives took the babe quickly and cleaned it.

"Well?" the Queen's mother demanded, "What is it?"

"A boy, Your Grace!" one of them cried.

She turned back to her daughter.

"Do you here that, Lizzie? You've given your husband- and England- the longed for Prince Arthur!" She approached the Queen jubilantly, grinning from ear to ear. A victorious tune sang in her heart. There was now cemented, living proof that her hard work in avenging her sons and making peace with Margaret Beaufort had not been in vain. Her bloodline- _Edward's bloodline- _would still rule England!

Elizabeth Woodville's elation was cut off by her daughter's pained groan.

"Lizzie? Lizzie are you alright!"

The Queen began to quake again, sobbing. One of the midwives rushed over.

"By God!" she exclaimed. "Twins!"

This time, the birth did not take nearly so long. It was much easier in fact. Things passed by in a flash, too quick to comprehend and by the turn of the next hour, the second Tudor prince was nestled beside his brother.

"Alert the King!" Elizabeth Woodville laughed. "Tell him he has two healthy sons!"

* * *

Henry VII of England paced in his chambers furiouslyn. His mother watched him with sharp, disapproving eyes but by the way she gripped the arms of her chair, she too was anxious.

A page burst into his apartments suddenly, and Henry turned. The boy bowed, dropping to one knee.

"What news!" the King snapped.

"The Queen has given birth to two healthy sons, Your Grace!"

Henry's eyes widened. Time stopped for a moment. Elizabeth had given him _twins? _Before he could comprehend what he was doing, his legs were carrying him to where he knew she was. The King didn't even give the servants the time to announce him. He simply entered his wife's confinement.

"Henry?" his Queen asked.

He rushed to her, freezing when he saw the babes in her arms.

"It's true!" he cried. "By God it's true!"

Henry sat next to her on the side of the bed, and peered down at the children.

_My sons. _

"What shall we name the second boy, Henry? We didn't exactly plan for twins."

The King peered down at the said child- the one with the gray band wrapped around his wrist- and smiled.

"He'll be Alexander, after the great King of Macedonia. If God wills it, he'll inherit his namesake's warrior spirit and always serve to protect his brother."

"Alexander it is then, my love."

And as the couple sat and gazed adoringly at their children, they had no idea of the truth. The truth that only one prince should have been born that day, and that the other would rise to become either a blessing or a curse for their House and their country.


	2. Chapter 2

Notes:

Sorry this took so long to get out guys! I've been SUPER busy lately and to be honest, this fic kind of slipped from my mind.

Elizabeth, Queen of England, held her little boy in her arms as his brother walked ahead. Alexander, Henry had been quick to point out with some amusement, was very much attached to her. He, for all of his apparent intelligence, was very much a child and would seek out physical contact from his mother as much as possible. Arthur, on the other hand, was much more of his father's son, determined already, even at the age of three, the prove himself to be a good future king.

Alexander squirmed in Elizabeth's arms and she smiled down at him. "Al, my little one, Mama's arms are getting heavy. I can't carry you for too long while with child. You're a big boy. Will you walk on your own for a bit?" Blue eyes squinted up at her, but he nodded all too seriously for a child and didn't put up a fuss.

Behind them, Margaret Beaufort frowned disapprovingly. "You shouldn't spoil the boy," she said. "He is a Prince of England and a remarkable child. He should not be coddled." Elizabeth resisted the urge to rub her temples.

"My Lady, Al is a, by your own admission, a gifted boy. Surely him being carried by me will not stunt him." Ahead, Henry walked with Arthur. He turned back at her words, his lips pulling downwards slightly, and Elizabeth sighed. She knew the silent message her husband was attempting to convey.

Alexander ran ahead to catch up with his brother. At the sound of feet pattering against the ground, the King of England turned to his second son. Henry did not lift him as his mother did, but he ruffled blond curls for a moment before turning his attention back to the path. Elizabeth smiled at the display. Her husband was a good man, but he did not convey his affection often and could come across as cold. She was thankful that he took the time to show their children his love.

She walked up to him quickly, picking up her pace. "Are the preparations complete?" she asked.

His eyes shifted to her and takes her arm in his.

"Aye. Our Arthur is officially betrothed to the youngest daughter of Isabella and Ferdinand."

Elizabeth breathed out softly.

"The Spaniards will be strong allies."

Henry nodded, and that was the end of the discussion. His Queen stroked the gentle swell of her stomach, surveyed her family, and allowed herself to smile. Everything was coming together. She had two beautiful boys, a wonderful husband, and another child on the way. Something warm bloomed in her chest. God truly smiled upon them.

* * *

Elizabeth's contentment did not last long. Less than a week after their walk, Arthur grew ill. The Queen sat by her son's bedside, helping the physicians. She placed a wet rag across his forehead, her fingers clenching so hard her knuckles turned white.

The Prince of Wales looks weak. Bullets of perspiration broke out across his skin. His cheeks were sallow, his skin pale, and his blond hair stuck closely to his head.

_Please, _she prayed, _Please, let my son live!_

Outside, she heard a commotion.

"Your Grace! You are not permitted to approach the Prince of Wales!"

There was a sound of something crashing to the floor. Then, a child's voice rang through the air.

"Get out of my way! I want to see my brother!"

Elizabeth left Arthur for a moment and walked briskly to the door. There, a page desperately tried to hold Alexander without hurting him.

"Al?" she said. Her son's eyes snapped to her.

"Mother!" he struggled some more. "Tell them to let me see Arthur!"

At the look in his eyes, one of utter desperation, Elizabeth's heart broke. She took her son's hand and walked a few paces away. Then she dropped to her knees before him.

"You cannot visit Arthur," the Queen said gently. "We don't want to risk you getting sick as well."

Her son's gaze dropped to her stomach.

"But you're here, and you're with child!"

Elizabeth frowned, brushing off the uncomfortable fact that he was right. She cradled her child's face and stared right into his eyes. "Never mind that now," she said. "Get back to a safe distance, Al." Her son hesitated for a moment longer but upon seeing the steel in her look, dipped his head and slunk off. Elizabeth sighed. She prepared to re-enter Arthur's rooms when one of the physicians hurried out.

"Your Grace," he rushed, "The King has been summoned. The Prince has very little time left to live."

Elizabeth froze. Everything stopped. There was only her, and the man before her, and the knowledge that her son- her precious, three year old boy, was taking his last breaths in the other room. Her heart splintered and a terrible cry- strangled and pained, broke from her lips.

"Your Grace?" the physician said again. "Are you- are you alright?"

Elizabeth didn't answer him. She only walked numbly back to Arthur's chambers and sat against his bed. She stared at him, with his blond hair damp with sweat and his eyes fluttering closed and his chest barely moving, and the tears began to fall.

Less than an hour later, the Prince of Wales was dead.


End file.
